Darcy slid into the limo and squeezed in between Jane and Pepper. "Make way, lady with a baby," she yelled as she scootched in. Darcy watched as Clint crawled in as well and sat on the end next to Steve.

Of course, now that the baby started kicking, it was like there was a chorus line in Darcy's uterus. Darcy rubbed her ribcage, trying to alleviate the new pressure. Clint noticed her gesture, and the two shared a smile across the limo. Jane noticed her gesture, and asked her if she was okay. "Yeah. The baby is active tonight."

Jane gave her a shocked look. "The baby is moving?!" she screeched. Making grabby hands, she reached for Darcy's belly. "Lemme feel."

And that's how Darcy ended up with the members of the Avengers Initiative feeling up her baby bump.

Except for Tony – he said that babies were boring, rolled his eyes, and drank his bourbon.

After two hours of keeping Tony away from the blondes and the bourbon, Pepper took over Tonysitting duties and Darcy was free to enjoy the party. Except…Darcy couldn't drink anymore. So…what was she supposed to do at a party?

Darcy sipped her water and people-watched. There was a tap on her shoulder. Darcy turned, and Steve held out his hand. "Miss Lewis, you look lonely. Would you care to dance?" Darcy smiled and accepted the offered hand.

Over the last month, Darcy and Steve had developed a very…comfortable relationship. Steve was somewhere between Darcy's protective older brother and technologically deficient grandpa. She loved him to pieces for his adorable-ness, and Steve loved her total bluntness. So Darcy had made it her mission to teach Steve all about the cool pop culture references, like Firefly and Buffy. Steve, in return, made sure that Darcy never carried all her groceries up on her own and was willing to talk about her fear of babies with her. Steve had somehow become…family to her, and she could no more say no to him than she could cut off her arm.

Luckily, it was a slow dance, because Steve, for all his super serum-enhanced skills, was not a very good dancer. "So…why isn't Agent Barton by your side?"

Darcy shrugged. "I think he's talking to a senator or a supermodel or something."

Steve frowned. "He should be with you."

Darcy gave Steve a slightly patronizing smile. "Steven, I am perfectly fine on my own. I'm pregnant; that doesn't mean I'm suddenly helpless and fragile."

Steve gave Darcy a patronizing smile in return. "Whatever you say, ma'am."

Darcy groaned. Steve ma'am-ing her was his way of saying oh, bless your heart honey, but that is a stupid idea. But Darcy decided that dancing with America's Literal Sweetheart ™ was a nice way to distract her from one dumb-ass assassin's lack of attention, so she would go along with what he said.

The two danced and chit-chatted about the gala. After a few minutes, the song ended and Steve escorted her off the dance floor. Darcy was all set to sit down and ditch her heels when Senator Brackenthorn intercepted the two of them.

"Captain Rogers, may I have a word?" he asked, trying to slide in between Darcy and Steve.

Darcy all but elbowed her way back into the conversation. "Senator, Steve here was escorting me to get a drink. So you'll have to excuse us."

Steve watched as Darcy maneuvered the man that had come up to talk to them. Steve assumed, based on Darcy's statement and general demeanor, that this man was the annoying senator who wouldn't stop pestering her about using the Avengers in his next campaign. Brackleaf? Blackthorne? Something like that.

He gave a polite smile as he placed Darcy's arm in his. "Yes, Senator, please excuse us. I would hate to break my promise to the lovely Miss Lewis here."

They started to turn, and the Senator grabbed Darcy's arm. "So, you're the roadblock." He gave her a quick up and down look. "Huh." He said in a degrading tone.

Steve wanted to say something – to teach this rude man a lesson in how to treat women – but Darcy placed a hand on his arm and gave him a Look. It was a look he recognized; it meant let me fight my own battles and thanks for the concern, but I got this. So Steve stepped back and watched as his the woman who had somehow become his closest friend dressed down a member of the government.

Darcy leaned in very close to the Senator. "Listen, darling," she purred, in a voice that sounded eerily like Natasha. "I am pregnant. I have enough hormones going through me for four grown women, and I carry a Taser at all times – even now," she said, tapping her tiny bag. "I would just hate to accidentally break your Pacemaker because you were a prick and I had to Tase you. That would be just…terrible," she said with a smirk that implied it would be anything but that.

With a golden smile, she turned back to him. "Shall we go get that drink?"

Clint watched the exchange between Darcy, Cap, and a shorter man with interest. From what he could tell, the man was trying to talk to Cap, and Darcy put a stop to it. Clint didn't really care about that – from what he had gleaned from Darcy's file and what he had witnessed earlier in the day, Darcy could take of herself.

What interested Clint was the dynamic between Cap and Darcy. Cap had one hand on Darcy's lower back, and was rubbing circles with it. Darcy gave him a grateful look, and leaned her head on his shoulder as they walked to an empty table.

Clint watched as the two sat and drank the water a server had given them. Darcy took off her shoes and put her bare feet in Cap's lap. He made a face, and she laughed at him. They talked, and it was not only the most animated Clint had ever seen Cap, but the most comfortable he had ever seen Darcy.

It was like watching a train wreck; Clint was slightly horrified yet couldn't look away. Had he somehow lost Darcy to Steve?

Darcy was really glad she had Steve as a friend. He didn't really like parties, so he was willing to play wallflower with her. So for the past twenty or so minutes, they had been sitting at a table, drinking water and talking.

"So…it's about a girl investigating her best friend's death?"

"Exactly! And there are, like, mini-mysteries in each episode." Darcy said, trying to convince Steve to watch Veronica Mars with her. "It's like…if Phillip Marlowe had boobs and went to high school in California," she explained, trying to make a reference Steve would understand.

"Not Sam Spade?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"Nah. He's a dick. Marlowe pretends to be a dick and hides his knight-in-shining-armor persona behind all the snark. Veronica pretends to be a bitch instead of a dick."

Steve gave her an odd look. "How do you know about pulp fiction?"

Darcy shrugged. "I was an English major for two semesters. One of the classes I took was called Hard-Boiled and Noir in American Film and Fiction. It was actually kind of interesting."

They were arguing about the two detectives when Clint came up and stood between them awkwardly. "Can I butt in?"

Darcy removed her feet from Steve's lap and folded them underneath her. "Sure. I'm trying to convince Steve to watch Veronica Mars with me."

Steve held up his hands in defeat. "Fine! You convinced me. We'll watch some episodes soon."

Darcy did a victory dance in her chair. "Aw yissssss."

Steve stood awkwardly. "So, uh…do you want my chair?" he asked Clint. "Because…uh…I think Pepper is waving at me." With that terrible excuse, he scurried away from the table.

Clint sat in the now-empty chair and turned to Darcy. "So…Steve is a bad liar."

Darcy rolled her eyes. "He's Mr. All-American Boy Scout ™. I think it's genetically encoded in him that he can't lie."

Darcy tried to hide a yawn behind her hand. "Tired?" Clint asked.

"It's like I can't stay up past 11 o'clock anymore. Which is so depressing, because I do all of my quality creeping action in the middle of the night."

He gave her a strange look. "I can take you home, if you want?" Darcy nodded in agreement, and the two left the party.

The walk out was in silence.

The cab ride was in silence.

The elevator ride up was in silence.

Darcy exited at her floor. Well fuck you too, she thought as the elevator doors closed without so much as a word from Clint.

What a weirdo.

Three weeks passed, and Clint barely talked to her. Oh, he would say hi in the hallways at SHIELD, and he took her to lunch in the cafeteria every Monday, but their conversation never went any deeper than the latest watercooler tidbit.

Finally, around 10:30 one night, Darcy got fed up with it. She just didn't understand Clint's strange behavior. And since Darcy likes to understand everything…she was going to Velma this shit and get to the bottom of this mystery.

Already comfortably ensconced in her sleep clothes (yoga shorts, a cami with a built-in bra, and crazy knee socks) (hey, don't judge, her feet get cold), Darcy threw on an oversized hoodie and the nearest pair of shoes and trekked up to Clint's suite of rooms, two floors above hers.

She knocked on the door before she lost her courage. After a minute, she could hear someone shuffling to the door. He opened it, mumbling, "Geez, Tasha, let an old man nap, would ya?" At the sight of Darcy, he stood up straight. "Hi."

Darcy took in his bed head and scruff, which was way too attractive for her hormones to be handling. He only had on loose sweats that hung low on his hips, showing off cut lines that Darcy wanted to lick.

But the real clencher was his bare feet. Darcy found the casualness of it all just too damn wonderful.

"Hi." She sighed back. She shook her head, trying to regain her focus. "Why are you being weird?" she asked bluntly.

He stared at her, sleep still in his eyes. "Wha-?"

Darcy ticked off her reasons on her fingers. "You barely talk to me, you don't want to spend any time with the group if I'm there, you act like I'm your maiden aunt that you have to censor everything for, you don't even mock-flirt with me, or try to feel the baby. What's your damage?"

Clint looked at her. "What the fuck are you wearing?"

Darcy glanced down at herself. In her haste, she hadn't realized that her hoodie was longer than her shorts, so it looked like that was all she was wearing. And the shoes she was wearing were her combat boots, which was highly ironic for so many reasons to her. "Clothes," however, was the smart-ass response she came up with. "Which is more than you can say. So, what the fuck is your problem?

Clint opened the door all the way, rubbing his eyes. "Can we not have this discussion in the hallway? Please, come in."

Darcy stepped in the doorway and took stock of Clint's quarters. The couch and coffee table were covered with arrows, quivers, parts, knives and other tools of his trade. He followed her gaze and, embarrassed, attempted to clean everything up.

Darcy waved her hands at him. "No, no, it's cool. We'll just sit on your bed and talk." Taking the lead, she went into what she assumed was his bedroom.

The room was done in muted grays. The headboard was an oddly fanciful twist of cast-iron that Darcy was instantly jealous of. She sat down on the rumpled comforter and patted the space next to her. "Sit. Let's chat."

He sat down gingerly next to her. "What's up?"

"Did I…do or say something that made you mad at me?"

"Geez, Darce, no. If anyone deserves to be mad at this situation it's you."

Darcy shrugged. "Been there, done that, decided that the anger didn't outweigh the joy and tossed it aside." Her face becoming serious again, she turned to face Clint. "Then why are you avoiding me?"

As soon as she asked the question, Clint realized that was exactly what he had been doing. He had told himself he was going slow, or that he was giving her an opportunity to be with someone her own age. But when it came down to it, he was just avoiding the girl who held his heart in her hands.

Finally, he decided to just be vague. "I don't know."

Darcy huffed at him. "Look, Clint, if we're going to make this work – and you have no idea how much I want this to work – we need to be completely honest with each other. Or, as honest as we can be since my security clearance level isn't all that high yet," she amended. "So what is bothering you?"

Clint jumped into his explanation, feet first – which, to be honest, was his approach to life. "When I saw you with Cap at the gala, and how comfortable you two were together, I just feel like…you can do better than me. And now you're stuck with me." He said, staring at his hands.

He could see Darcy toeing her shoes – those combat boots he loved – out of the corner of his eye. "Hey." She said, grabbing his chin and turning his face towards hers. "Steve is like my totally hetero gay best friend. You are the father of my baby and the man whose forearms I want to lick. I am the slightly hormonal and always witty preggers one." He could feel a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. She grinned in return. "Now that we've got our roles assigned, let's cuddle, chat, and maybe make out a little bit because that scruff is really working for you." She winked at him and started to unzip her sweatshirt.

Clint turned around and arranged the pillows so it would be comfortable for her. When he turned back around, he was momentarily dumbstruck because, God, Darcy had great breasts. At that current moment, she was making a face of discomfort and attempting to rearrange them in her shirt. Clint couldn't look away.

Finally, he managed to drag his eyes back up to her face. At Darcy's chastising look, he gave her a silly grin. "Sorry. They're just so…."

"Ridiculously out there, I know. I went up a whole cup size! Do you have any idea how uncomfortable that is?"

He shook his head, knowing that was the correct answer. "Can I just-" he said, unconsciously reaching towards them.

Darcy laughed. "Only if you promise to find me a more comfortable shirt to wear."

Clint jumped up and rummaged in his drawers, trying to find a clean shirt. Finally he found one – a soft, purple-y gray that had faded to the point of perfection. It was one of his favorite shirts. "Here," he said, handing the shirt to Darcy, who had climbed underneath the blanket by that point.

She gave him a grateful smile. "Thanks. And here you go," she said, whipping her own shirt off. "You have exactly thirty seconds. Go."

Clint didn't waste any time. He jumped into the bed and slid up next to her. Thoroughly entranced, he palmed each breast with his hands. He delicately slid a thumb over one nipple, and smile in response to Darcy's gasp and slight squirm.

Starting at the top of her left breast, he kissed a trail around the curve and down her sternum. However, his lust got momentarily sidetracked by the mound of Darcy's pregnant stomach. Fascinated and fearful, he placed a gently kiss on the top while running his hands down the side. "Hi baby," he whispered.

Darcy tapped his shoulder. "And…" she said, drawing out the word, "time's up." Clint grudgingly moved as Darcy slipped his shirt on. "Oh wow. This is probably the most comfortable shirt in the history of clothing. You're not getting it back now."

Clint smiled. The shirt looked good on her, and he was okay with giving it up if it meant Darcy wasn't mad at him. He slid under the blankets next to her, and she laid her head on his shoulder."

JARVIS helpfully dimmed the lights. "So…you and Steve..." Clint said.

"…are just friends." Darcy finished. "He's like my big brother. He watches out for me when he's at SHIELD and makes sure I don't carry too much of the groceries and paints the nursery for me. In return, I teach him about pop culture and defuse his temper about Tony and try to dress him like a normal person, not my great-grandpa."

"So…you're not attracted to him?" Clint asked, staring at the ceiling, trying not to watch for a lie on her face.

Darcy snorted. "Babe, I'm attracted to everyone right now, including Natasha and Bruce. I have enough hormones running through me to power a third world country." As Clint turned to look at her, she became serious. "Steve is attractive, but I feel like making a move on him is corrupting him. Having sex with him would be like defiling a national monument."

Clint couldn't help it; he guffawed at that explanation. Darcy laughed too as the laughter shaking Clint's body made her head bounce against his chest.

And that statement broke the ice that had been building around Clint's heart. For the next few hours, they talked about everything silly and nothing serious – including a ranking of asses in the Tower. (His won, of course.)

Darcy yawned mid-giggle, the action taking her by surprise. She squinted at the clock, trying to make out the glowing numerals (she had taken off her glasses a while ago). "What time is it?" she mumbled into Clint's chest.

He rolled and looked. "2:37."

Darcy yawned again. "Mmkay. G'night," she said, rolling onto her other side.

"What do you think you're doing, woman?" Clint breathed into her ear. Darcy shivered.

"Sleeping." She mumbled.

Clint rolled her onto her back. "Not without a goodnight kiss," he said, leaning over her, the bump blocking him from fully lowering himself on top of her.

Darcy shivered again as he slid himself sinuously down her body, until his face was flush with her belly button. "Night, baby," he said, kissing her stomach. He slid back up until his face was inches from her. "Night, babe."

The kiss Clint gave her was the Princess Bride of kisses – it topped the top five kisses of all time. It was soft, and warm, and unbearably sweet. Darcy smiled into his lips and ran her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. "Night, Green Arrow," she whispered, breaking the kiss.

In the dark, Darcy could make out the barest hint of a smile on Clint's face. He gently turned her back on her side. Darcy pulled one of his arms over her side, forcing him to spoon with her. He dropped another kiss between her shoulder blades, and then settled in behind her, one leg between hers, fingers tracing patterns on her stomach.

It was, quite possibly, the best sleep either one of them had ever gotten.